


Harvesting the Investment

by house_of_lantis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Language, M/M, Written for Petopher Secret Santa 2014, angry marital sex, bondage/dominance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has the perfect life, the perfect partner in Chris, and everything is exactly the way that HE wants it – and then, one day out of the blue, Chris leaves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harvesting the Investment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wererotter](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wererotter).



> Gift Fic For: wererotter
> 
> Written For: Petopher Secret Santa 2014, Prompt #15: Peter thinks he’s the one in control of their relationship – if you could even term it as such. Chris shows him how wrong he is. Bonus points if Chris has Peter admit he’s a slut.
> 
> Author’s Note: I think I met most of the requirements of the original prompt, but there’s also a lot of story with the porn (damn it, Peter, stop internal monologue-ing every scene!). LOL!

 

**SUNDAY**

Peter smiled as Chris arched under him, his hands fisting the bed sheets and pulling them off the mattress. It was with a sense of deep-rooted masculine pride that he could make Chris moan and writhe, like some kind of primitive instinct inside of him that relished, not just the physical pleasure of being intimate with his husband, but his husband’s complete surrender and loss of control over himself at Peter’s hands.

“Peter—my god, Peter—you— _please_! Please, damn it!”

And the begging, Peter loved the begging; and the bright blue eyes that stared up at him, beseeching and needy, Chris’s handsome face damp with sweat and etched with lines of pleasure postponed, frustration and want.

Christopher Argent was not an _easy_ man by any stretch of the imagination; that was partly why Peter was so attracted to him. He never backed down; Peter found him challenging and it was exhilarating to go toe-to-toe with such a man. But Chris was no trophy husband. He loved his work as a weapon systems designer and spent as much time in his home workshop designing the perfect handgun that Peter did at his office at Hale Group working on making the perfect financial deal. When they got married and when their daughters were still living with them, Chris enforced the rule that they would have dinner together as a family. At first, Peter tried to make it home in time for dinner, but there were more nights than not when he’d end up coming home late.

They’d have the worst passive aggressive fights over it, with Chris crashing on the couch in his workshop and Peter passed out at his desk in his study. Chris’s daughter, Allison, joined forces with Peter’s daughter, Malia, and the two of them laid down the law that both Chris and Peter needed to get their heads out of their asses and start acting like partners.

_“If you wanted to have your own life, you should’ve just stayed a bachelor instead of dragging all of us into this with you,” Malia told Peter, bold and to the point as usual._

_Allison gave Chris a long look. “Is this the example you want to set for us? That we should put up with husbands who sulk in their corners and not talk about what’s bothering them?”_

Chris moved back into their bedroom and slept in their bed, but that didn’t mean that the fight was over. Both of them knew, intellectually, that living together as a family would be an adjustment, but neither really knew what that would mean in reality. Malia was used to being independent and didn’t always take Chris seriously as a second parent. Allison had a close relationship with Chris and Peter sometimes, unfairly, believed her to be the biggest cockblock ever. Peter had a habit of not leaving things alone; Chris could compartmentalize everything and shut down emotionally for weeks at a time. Angry sex was some of the best sex that they’d had with each other. The early years of their marriage were passionate, but not very blissful. They got through the rough patches and it was a point of pride for Peter that they held it together.

Almost every part of their life together seemed to be some kind of battle, battles that Peter loved fighting with his husband, but here in their bed, Peter could be victorious without fear of losing this man.

_“Peter!”_

He was feeling quite merciful, but he still took a moment to keep his cock buried in his husband, holding still just a moment longer, grinning at the way that Chris’s muscles clenched around his hardness, fluttering and demanding more.

With a breath filling his lungs, Peter finally pulled his hips back and gave a hard thrust, jolting the both of them up the bed. Chris braced the palms of his hands against the headboard, arching his neck, legs tightening around Peter’s hips as Peter gave another thrust, harder than the last, the headboard slamming against the wall in a loud, steady rhythm – they would have to plaster the wall again after tonight’s festivities, he thought, gleefully – and watched as Chris gritted his teeth, throat vibrating with moans.

Peter reached between them and curled his hand around Chris’s swollen, wet cock. Chris hissed, trying to buck his hips away.

“ _Ohh-ohhh!_ Jesus! Fuck!”

“I love it when you’re like this,” Peter panted out, his hand stroking the dark, plump head. “So desperate for it, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes! Come on,” Chris urged, the heels of his feet digging into the back of Peter’s thighs.

“You’ve already come twice; so greedy, Mr. Argent, so greedy,” he teased, breathlessly. “I haven’t even come once yet.”

“Then _come_ , you fucker!”

Chris stared meaningfully up at him and Peter barked out a gruff laugh, fucking him with long strokes, tightening his hand around Chris’s overly sensitized cock, watching as Chris’s chest, neck, and cheeks flushed deeply.

His eyes rolled back, head falling against the mattress – the pillows were long lost to the floor, probably during their second romp where they spent a good hour wrestling, with Peter coming out on top, so to speak – and Chris groaned pitifully, so close but not there yet; _not yet_ anyway, not having come twice already, so this third one, Chris needed to work for it if he wanted it.

Peter, naturally, would do anything to oblige.

He bent down and pressed his mouth against the long stretch of Chris’s neck, licking the sweat and musk and the bitter tinge of his cologne off the man’s skin, biting his Adam’s apple delicately, his chest levering against Chris as he sucked on a warm earlobe.

“Such a good boy.”

Chris laughed, one of his hands curling behind Peter’s neck, tugging him up for a breathless, chaotic kiss. It was all tongue and teeth and spit and Peter loved it, loved getting messy with his husband. Even after ten years together, Peter didn’t find a single moment of it dull.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been a boy,” he said, chuckling throatily against Peter’s mouth.

“ _Mmmm_ …I don’t care, I like calling you boy. You’re my boy, aren’t you, Christopher?” He pressed his opened mouth against Chris’s face, hand roughly stroking between their bellies, feeling Chris clench and clench around his cock. “Come on, baby, you’re almost there, aren’t you? I can smell you…come on, come for _daddy_.”

“Wha—the fuck? Fuck – _gonna come_ – Peter! Fuck!”

Chris let out a low whine as his body curled up, held still for a beat, and shuddered so hard that his movements shifted the bed, hitting the bedside table and rattling the lamp; his knees pressed in tight against Peter’s hips as he sucked in a deep breath, holding it in and holding it in, until he dropped back on the bed, gasping for air. Peter felt Chris’s pleasure ripple against him, cock spitting out just a couple of drops of come, but the pleasure must have felt achingly intense after being on edge for so long.

“God…don’t…” Chris moaned, pulling Peter’s hand away from his cock.

He sighed and sank into the bed, arms and legs falling loosely around Peter, heavy-lidded blue eyes looked up at Peter, watching intently through the fog of his pleasure.

Peter braced his fists against the bed and moved off of Chris, his knees and toes skidding on the loose bed sheets as he hammered his cock into Chris, staring at the blissed-out look on Chris’s face as he chased after his own pleasure for the night, coming just as hard and needful inside Chris.

He trembled, gritting his teeth as he threw back his head, letting out a pleased noise as he thrust into Chris again, then again, and then one more time just because he could. He inhaled deeply through his nose and then lowered his head to look at his husband, a smile forming on his lips.

“Daddy? Seriously?”

Peter’s smile grew and he licked his lips. “Heat of the moment.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” Chris commented, grinning softly up at him.

Peter laughed, pushing himself back on his knees, pulling his cock from inside Chris. “Can you blame me?”

“I’m wiped out. Are you going to sleep?”

“ _Mmmm_ …in about an hour or so,” he said, leaning down to kiss Chris’s soft lips. “You rest. I know I wore you out, old man.”

Chris laughed, good-naturedly. They were only six years apart, but Peter enjoyed teasing him about their age difference. If anything, he hadn’t had a lover who fed Peter’s sex drive and who could keep up with him except Chris.

“Go forth and conquer the world,” Chris murmured, his eyes closing.

Peter got off the bed, raising his arms high into the air to stretch out his back, looking down at the state of his husband – utterly sated with a rosy blush on his tanned skin, come everywhere, skin slick with sex sweat, hair wet and matted down, cock and balls well used and raw – and Peter gave a triumphant smile, turning to walk into the bathroom to throw cold water on his face. Chris was the only man who could make Peter feel like he really could go out and conquer the world. He switched the faucet to hot water and wetted a soft washcloth, bringing it out to clean up his lightly snoring husband.

A quick glance at the clock showed that it was only 2 AM and Peter wasn’t tired – he always felt energized after a good fuck session with Chris. He pulled on a pair of his pajama pants and picked up the top sheet from the floor, covering Chris and pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, and wandered out of their bedroom to his private office on the first floor.

He was certain that he could check into the international markets and get started on reading through the several dozen prospectus and business plans before his meetings in the morning. He turned on his Mac and signed into the Hale Group’s email system, unsurprised to see that his three associates were online as well.

 _We can sleep when we’re dead_ – that was the motto of his little triumvirate of junior analysts. They were young and smart and hungry; Peter was only slightly impressed with their commitment to their careers – and potential fortunes – at Hale Group. He expected nothing less and they always delivered, surpassing his expectations each time.

He opened a new message window and sent them a group text, alerting them of his presence, and started looking through the various reports, making notes and sending them to his team.

 

**MONDAY**

Like clockwork, Peter woke up at 5 AM, and grinned as Chris grumbled in his sleep about the annoying alarm. He pulled the sheets down, unveiling Chris’s sleep warm body, and reached out to caress Chris’s belly with the palm of his hand before curling both of his hands around his hips to look at his soft cock.

“Too early for this, Petey,” Chris mumbled, turning his face into the pillow under his head.

“Never too early for a good suck, sweetheart,” Peter said, licking his lips and bending over his husband, pulling his cock into his mouth.

“ _Mmmm_ …” he murmured, one hand reaching down to curl over Peter’s hair. “Sleeping…”

Peter sucked the head, licking it carefully as it hardened against his lips.

“Jesus, I can’t come again after last night,” Chris said, chuckling sleepily.

He was certain he could pull one more out of Chris; he trailed his manicured nails through the soft tufts of hair on his thighs, grinning when Chris’s legs parted. Peter gently caressed his balls, feeling Chris’s belly flutter against his cheek, a rough morning moan slipping from his mouth.

It wasn’t going to take long to get Chris to come in his mouth – and it was a lovely way to start the morning, Peter thought, as he put his mind towards getting Chris to come quickly. He pressed his fingers against the softest skin right behind his balls and tasted pre-come as Chris breathed heavily through his nose, fingers curling to tug at Peter’s hair now, pressing his head down gently.

Peter sank further down on Chris’s cock, his tongue sweeping along the length of him, until he suckled at the head, pulling and pulling on it, increasing the suction as Chris’s hips bounced under him.

“Yes, _ohhhhhh_ Peter,” Chris whispered, his other hand gripping the edge of the mattress.

Morning blowjobs were Peter’s favorites. He could smell the heated musk of Chris rising and he groaned, tasting Chris’s come on his tongue as he pulsed in a slow, warm wave of pleasure.

“Give me a sec and I’ll return the favor,” Chris murmured, his hand caressing Peter’s head.

“Rain check,” Peter said, getting to his knees and straddling Chris’s hips. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking off as he stared down at Chris’s sleeping form, and choked back a soft whimper as he came, dripping his come on Chris’s skin.

“Possessive bastard,” Chris slurred, sighing deeply.

Peter sighed happily, shaking the head of his cock to get every last drop onto Chris’s skin.

“Have a good day, Christopher,” he said, bending to kiss Chris’s mouth before heading to the bathroom to start his morning.

***

Peter was a gambler at heart; he could calculate the risks and potential rewards of start-up businesses in a 15-minute pitch meeting and source out investment opportunities that made the greatest return. He absolutely loved meeting with talented entrepreneurs, grooming them and helping them grow their companies. If they made money, then Hale Group and their partners and investors made money, too. Peter was quite invested in seeing people succeed. Gambling aside, Peter was a genius at crunching numbers; and he could schmooze his way blindfolded at every networking event or business conference that he could fit into his busy schedule. His associates nicknamed him “The Alpha” because Peter was usually the most dominant male in a room full of alpha males.

His mornings from were spent in a number of back-to-back meetings that went for 15-minute increments, all with future entrepreneurs and start-ups looking for Hale Group investment capital to kick start or grow their businesses. The rest of his afternoon was spent finding innovative solutions for Hale Group’s portfolio companies, helping them form best practices or strategic plans or expansions to new markets, and reporting to Hale Group’s partners on their fund management and his pitch-to-investment ratio.

There was a reason why Peter was so good at his job.

Sometimes, late at night, he wondered where he might have taken his talents, along a darker road so to speak, if his interests hadn’t been redirected into something socially acceptable. Peter was an expert at reading human weakness, but instead of selfishly exploiting or manipulating people and tearing them down with his destructive nature, he used his energies into being a protector for his family, which rippled out to include his business partners and the companies under his tutelage.

Peter smiled as he watched Erica escort David Dawson, his last appointment for the morning, out of his office to the elevators. He waited until the door was closed before turning to look at Stiles and Boyd, raising his eyebrow at them, waiting for their input.

“Yes,” Stiles said, cunningly. “But only at 10 percent, it’s a long term investment, slow but steady growth.”

“Yes, and no. I calculated it at 8.5 percent going in,” Boyd said, shrewdly. “But there’s a potential for a bigger cut at the end, if you help the company exit out of the portfolio in five years so that they could be bought out by another company.”

Stiles hissed, crinkling his nose. “ _Ohhh_ , risky, Mr. Boyd, very risky.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, Stilinski.”

Peter smiled, sliding his hand down the front of his silk tie. He looked up when Erica sauntered into his office, red lips sneering.

“Lame, boys,” Erica said, rolling her eyes. “Go for 12 percent, Peter, and exit in three years. Get in hot and get out hot.”

Stiles and Boyd both hooted noisily, talking over each other loudly.

“Are you fucking kidding?”

“Babe, that’s ballsy, even for you.”

“At that rate, you might as well just be the hatchet that cuts that company down at the knees, Catwoman.”

“ _Rawr_ ,” Erica said, curling her fingers at Stiles.

Stiles turned to look at Peter. “Well, Alpha, what’s the verdict?”

Peter laughed, leaning his hip against the edge of his desk. He looked at his three associates – Stiles for his steadfast confidence, Boyd for his sharp attention to detail, and Erica for her cutthroat cool – and he pointed his finger at Stiles. “Long term investment for the win—“

Stiles clapped his hands, throwing both of his hands into the air in victory. “Yes!”

“—Hale Group has enough liquid assets in our portfolio that if we needed to exit them to recoup any losses in the fund, we have plenty that we could cut and still be in the black. We can afford to put in some long term capital for steady growth,” Peter explained, looking at his associates. “The Hale Group fund will be stronger for it and our partners will feel better about having a few long term investments in the fund, too.”

“Well, I’m in,” Boyd said, nodding. “Let’s go eat lunch.”

Erica curled her arm around his, chuckling. “Making money always makes you hungry.”

“That’s not all that makes me hungry,” he murmured, smiling widely at her.

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” Stiles whined, picking up his suit jacket and slipping it on, following them to the door. “Lunch is on Peter.”

Peter snorted, shaking his head. “If I’m footing the bill, then I get to choose the venue. Hippie Shack.”

He loved food trucks and Hippie Shack had the best five bean burrito in town.

Stiles, Boyd, and Erica stopped and turned around to look at him, each wearing a horrified expression on their faces.

“Oh shit, no, come on, Peter—“

“Alpha, you can’t take us back there. Erica—“ Boyd paused, wincing, looking at his girlfriend.

“ _So_ much gas,” Erica moaned, shaking her head. “And I don’t have any Gas-X!”

Stiles laughed. “It’s _so_ bad; it makes my eyes water.”

Erica gave him a playful kick to the ass.

Peter was amazed by the three of them; they had all come from different backgrounds and different universities, but they were at the top of the application pool. He hired Stiles first, not because he was the son of Chris’s best friend, John Stilinski, but because Peter saw in him that same quality of smart risk-taking and the ability to get shit done. He started “wooing” Stiles while he was in his third year at Stanford much to John’s and Chris’s amusement; then he recruited Vernon Boyd from UCLA for his poker face, keen observation skills, and ability to make connections that most would miss; and Erica Reyes, from Pepperdine, for her brilliant math skills and fearlessness. He hoped that the three of them would play well together; and when they first met, there was an amazing energy with the trio. There was friendly competition and rivalry and flirtation; and Peter worried that when Erica and Boyd got together that it would change their relationship, with Stiles as the odd man out. Instead, it brought them closer – and Peter speculated if the three of them had taken their relationship a little further – and he was relieved that it wouldn’t upset their working relationship.

“She can take a separate elevator—“

“ _Ohh_ , Peter, that’s so harsh,” Erica complained as Boyd laughed, opening the door for her.

“—now, shut up and let’s go. I have a meeting with Talia this afternoon about the quarterly budget.”

***

Peter wasn’t joking when he said that Erica could take a separate elevator. He sent Boyd with her as he stepped into the elevator with Stiles.

“Ah, Derek, it’s good to see you,” Peter said, warmly, seeing that his nephew was already standing inside the elevator car.

“Uncle Peter,” he said, nodding to Peter. His hazel eyes shifted to Stiles, cheeks pinking slightly. “Hi, Stiles.”

Peter didn’t roll his eyes.

“ _Heyyyyy_ , Derek,” Stiles said, standing as close to Derek as possible without appearing overly creepy. “How’s life in the Accounting Department?”

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice warm and low.

Derek pushed up his black frame glasses, shoulders hunched under his John Varvatos suit jacket, ruining the line of its fine tailoring. Peter noted that he had started to grow out his hair, but he hadn’t shaved again, the lumberjack look didn’t complement the $900 suit. He would have to speak to Derek about keeping up certain appearances; the man was a Hale, for god’s sake, and Peter was determined to make sure that Derek didn’t look anything less than a successful Hale.

“Can you send me the latest projections for the quarter? I know I asked your team to put it together but I’d like for you to review it before my meeting with Talia today.”

Derek nodded. “Sure, I’ll do it as soon as I get back to my office.”

“Thank you, Derek.”

“So, big guy,” Stiles drawled out, chuckling awkwardly. “Got any weekend plans?”

Derek blinked at him. “It’s only Monday.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, right, right, don’t lock down anything too early in the week, you might get a better offer later,” Stiles said, stupidly. “So how was your weekend?”

“It was fine,” Derek said, shrugging. “I worked out, and Isaac and Cora made me go see the newest _Avengers_ movie.”

“What! Dude, I’ve been telling you about that for weeks! You couldn’t have waited for me? Or called me or something?”

Derek stared at him, thick eyebrows furrowing. “I didn’t know you wanted to see it with me.”

Peter rolled his eyes, stifling his groan. _This was utterly pathetic._ He thought he’d taught Stiles to go after what he wanted; it was obvious that Derek would say yes if Stiles would have the backbone to ask him out on a date. How did Stiles miss that hopeful puppy look on Derek’s face?

“Oh, oh yeah, yeah, I guess so,” Stiles muttered, dejectedly.

The doors opened on the 32nd floor and Peter sighed. “Have a good rest of your day, gentlemen.”

He shot Stiles a meaningful look and stepped out of the elevator first, walking quickly towards his office.

Robert, his temporary assistant while his usual gatekeeper, Violet, was out on maternity leave, wasn’t at his desk. Peter missed Violet and knew he was spoiled by her ruthless efficiency. He loved her stony-eyed glare and no-nonsense attitude. If truth were told, she had access to everything that kept Hale Group – and Peter – going; she could take them all down if she were of the mind.

He pushed opened the double doors to his office and smiled. “Christopher. This is a lovely surprise.”

Chris set down the _Newsweek_ he was reading and stood up from the armchair. Peter took a moment to admire his husband. Even in a simple navy blue Henley and tight jeans, Chris was the type who turned a lot of heads for a second and third look. He wore a wry half grin on his lips as he raised his eyebrow at Peter’s easy perusal of him.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “It’s very rare that I’d forget anything, especially if it had to do with you… _oh shit_ , we had a lunch date, didn’t we? I’m going to kill my new assistant for neglecting to remind me.”

“It’s fine,” he said, smiling. “It was good to get out of my workshop anyway. I might run some errands while I’m in town.”

He moved across the room and tucked his hands around Chris’s hips, leaning in to kiss him. “I’m sorry. I have an hour before my next meeting. How about a little bit of afternoon delight to make up for my soon-to-be-fired assistant’s scheduling error, _hmmm_? Would you like that, darling?”

Peter kissed him again, hands tucking down the curve of Chris’s firm ass, pulling him closer.

“Boss!” Stiles rushed into the room, breathlessly. “We can’t move forward on that Dawson deal, they fucked up the numbers that Dawson gave us. No wonder that asswipe looked so smug when he left! If Derek hadn’t asked me about the Dawson account – _oh shit_ , sorry, sorry!” Stiles winced, nodding. “Hey, uh, Chris, it’s good to see you again. I’m sorry, guys, for interrupting—“

“Wait,” Peter said, letting go of Chris and turning to look at Stiles. “Our accountants fucked up the Dawson numbers? That’s going to change everything.”

He was seriously going to rip out someone’s throat today.

“I know! That’s why I ran down here to tell you so you wouldn’t get the ball rolling,” he said, earnestly.

“Get Boyd and Erica and bring me all of the paperwork, all the original documents,” Peter said, sharply. “Get Derek up here, too. I want to know which moron in Accounting made this mistake.”

“Right,” Stiles said, hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry for just barging in here. I could come back in ten or fifteen minutes—“

“Stiles!” Peter barked at him, frowning. “Find out where the hell Robert disappeared to and get him to tell Talia to reschedule our quarterly meeting to later this week.” Stiles was still standing there, looking apologetically at Chris. “Stiles, get going, now.”

“Okay, going!”  

How did this happen? How did their team let a proposal come across _his_ desk with wrong figures? Today was not going as Peter expected and if there was one thing that Peter did not appreciate, it was people who fucked up the numbers and ruined a perfectly good Monday.

Chris picked up his leather jacket from the back of the sectional and sighed, amusedly. “It sounds like you have your hands full.”

Peter grimaced, walking to his husband. “I’m sorry. Raincheck?”

“Sure,” he said, easily. He kissed Peter’s cheek. “See you at home for dinner?”

“I may be a little late,” Peter told him, his hands on his hips.

He needed to put together a contingency plan, reconfigure his long-range financial strategy. Hell, it was going to be a long night for all of them.

Chris gave him a look. “Again? I’m not surprised. I’ll keep something warm for you.”

“Thank you, Christopher,” Peter said, distractedly. He walked to his desk, powering up his Macbook to search for the Dawson files.

He didn’t notice that Chris had left.

 

**TUESDAY**

Peter walked into the kitchen to find Chris cleaning up. He stood in the doorway, cocking his head as he looked at the muscles moving under Chris’s white tee-shirt as he stood at the sink, hand washing the dishes and clearing the sink.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me all night?”

He chuckled. “Yes. It’s my favorite show.”

Chris rolled his eyes and smiled, looking over his shoulder at Peter. “I saved you something to eat.”

“I’m sorry for missing dinner again.”

“Go on and sit down.” Chris gave him a nod, pulling on an oven mitt. He opened the oven door and pulled out a casserole dish, setting it on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

Peter gave him a grateful smile and sighed, staring into the dish. He inhaled the delicious aroma of Chris’s famous meatloaf and moaned.

“Beer?”

“Yes,” Peter said, picking up his fork and taking a bite of the meatloaf.

Chris opened the tops to the beer bottles, setting one of them in front of Peter. He slid onto the stool next Peter. “I sold ten thousand units of that new handgun I designed last year. I think it’s going to be Argent Arms International’s best seller. I’ll probably move another hundred thousand by the end of the year.”

Peter smiled. “At, what, $250 per unit?” He whistled, impressed. “Maybe I should retire and be your pool boy. Would you like that? Me, being at your beck and call all day.”

Chris chuckled, drinking his beer. “We’d drive each other crazy after two days if we were stuck in the house together.”

“Too true,” he said, grinning. “Congratulations, Christopher, that’s quite a nice deal for Argent Arms. Are you working on anything new these days? ”

Chris stared at his beer bottle for a moment before looking up at Peter. “I have some things in the works, nothing definite yet. I’m interested in a couple of consulting jobs but—“  

“Sounds promising,” he said, absentmindedly. “Our quarterly reports look good. We ran the numbers again and we’re going to bring in about 30% carried interest this year.”

Chris chuckled, giving him a look. “And I’m sure you’ll want to celebrate in your usual way.”

“Of course I want to celebrate,” he said, dropping his fork on the table. He pushed back on his stool and spread his legs apart. He wrapped his hand behind Chris’s neck and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss. “There’s only one way to celebrate when I just made us, and Hale Group, $130 million richer.” He traced Chris’s bottom lip with his thumb and met Chris’s pretty blue eyes. “Now, sweetheart, get on your knees and suck my cock.”

 

**WEDNESDAY**

“So as you can see from the quarterly report, we’re financially strong and fiscally strong as well. Any questions?” He said, looking at each member of Talia’s senior team. They looked rather pleased and shook their heads. “All the information is in your portfolio packets. If you do have any questions about the quarterly budget, feel free to call me. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Peter, delightful as always,” Talia said, smiling at him. She turned and nodded dismissively to her team. “Thank you all for coming.”

Peter winked at Stiles, Boyd, and Erica as he gathered up his leather portfolio and shook hands with some of the senior team as they headed out of the conference room.

“Peter, would you stay for a moment?”

“Of course, Tal,” he said, waving his associates to go on without him. He walked towards her and leaned his hip against the long table.

“So next week is your anniversary, do you and Chris have any special plans? I hadn’t heard anything from the kids.”

Peter had to think about it for a moment. Was it really their anniversary? Already? He hadn’t looked ahead on his weekly calendar yet – Chris was going to kill him. He frowned, shaking his head. “Shit.”

“You forgot?” She said, incredulously.

“Well, in my own defense, I have been quite busy with work the last few weeks.”

“Not just the last few weeks. You’ve been working late for the last six months.” Talia sighed, standing up, her hand on Peter’s arm. “Peter, are things okay between you Chris?”

“Of course they are. What do you mean?”

“You seem so distracted lately; it’s not like you. Derek tells me that you’ve been working late a lot and not going home until really late. And while I applaud your devotion to making Hale Group financially successful, I don’t want it to compromise your relationship with your husband. You’ve always been so head over heels for Chris; so completely indulgent and, to be honest, a little embarrassing, over how you are about him.”

He stared at her, slight perplexed. He was used to his big sister getting into his love life, she was a nosy busybody like no other, but this sounded rather _serious_. “And none of that has changed. I’m only human, I just forgot.”

“Well, don’t forget to do something about it. You and Chris should take some time off and go away for a little romantic holiday,” she said, smiling at him. “And as your boss, I will force you to clear your calendar.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but gave a soft laugh. “You are the biggest meddler that I know, Tal. If you’re going to play matchmaker, you should consider helping your lovelorn son, Derek.”

She laughed, tossing back her head. “There’s just no helping my poor boy, is there?” She squeezed Peter’s arm affectionately. “Really, Peter, I’m not kidding; I think you and Chris should take a vacation. If you want to use one of the Hale properties, have your assistant contact the caretaker to open it for you.”

“Thank you, sister dear, but I’m sure that I’m more than capable of planning something special for my husband myself,” he said, giving her a look.

Talia laughed at him as he followed her out of the conference room. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He wasn’t surprised to see his trio waiting for him at the elevators. Boyd hit the call button and the four of them got in as Stiles was regaling Erica of Peter’s telephone conversation with Dawson.  

“—was so pissed off,” Stiles said, laughing. “He kept screaming ‘the numbers are right! The numbers are right! You fuckers can’t do math!’”

What the hell was Peter going to do for their anniversary?

Boyd chuckled and shook his head as Erica laughed, dropping her face on his shoulder.

“I say we make the deal and then strip his company dry in two years, what do you say, Alpha,” Erica said, looking at Peter.

“It would be a fitting end and serve as a warning for others who come to us with incorrect financial data,” he said, agreeably.

He wondered if Chris wouldn’t mind postponing an anniversary trip for another time, maybe in a few months? Chris did say that he was working on something, didn’t he?

“ _’You fuckers can’t do math!_ ’” Stiles said again, laughing. “Okay, to be fair, it’s true, the senior accountant in charge fucked up the decimal placement BUT Dawson totally tried to fuck us with bad numbers to start with.”

They followed Peter out of the elevator and down the hall to his office. He paused, stopping in front of his new temporary assistant.

“Hi, Mr. Hale, is there something you need?”

“Yes, Danielle, I would like for you to make a purchase for me, something very high end. It’s for my husband. And get it engraved with a quote by James Joyce, something to celebrate our life together.”

“Sure, Mr. Hale. Do you have an upper limit for how much to spend?”

“Use my personal American Express card, there’s no limit.”

She made notes and looked up at him. “Do you have a specific preference or…”

Peter smiled, walking towards his office. “I trust your judgment.” He closed the door behind him and turned to his associates. “Erica, tell me more about how you’d teach Dawson a lesson he won’t forget.”

 

**THURSDAY**

In financial circles, harvesting the investment was a strategy to exit a business venture and liquidate the investment by unlocking the company’s full monetary value. One of Peter’s jobs was to manage the harvest strategy on their investments so that Hale Group’s capital assets and return on investment stayed strong. Alternatively, Peter looked at which of their investments were not making enough revenue or were high in expenses. When a business matured and was unlikely to grow anymore, that was when Peter would harvest the Hale Group’s original investment (plus interest and profits) from the business. He had the gift of knowing _just when_ something was ripe, right before it turned rotten.

It was a strategy that worked well in other areas of life; a strategy that Peter often taught his junior associates.

_Go in cool but get out hot._

_Exit the game richer than when you came in to play._

_Leave while the going was good._

Peter always knew when to cut his losses and when to cash out. “Stiles, I’m leaving early today. Mind the store.”

Stiles grinned. “It’s good that you’re going home, boss. You’ve been working late nearly every night the past couple of months.”

Peter looked up from his Macbook at Stiles’s chiding tone. “I didn’t know that you were accounting for my time in the office, Stiles. Tell me, are you relaying my activities to Derek?”

“I’m not spying on you!” Stiles said, blushing. “It’s just, you know, I talk about work and I might have mentioned how you’re working late. It’s not like I’m gossiping about you or anything.”

Peter raised his eyebrow.  

Stiles made a funny face and shrugged. “Anyway, you got to have a work-life balance.”

Perhaps he was right.

He chuckled, setting aside his paranoia, and shut down his computer. He stood up and smoothed down his necktie, buttoning his suit jacket. “All right, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good one, Peter,” Stiles called after him.

It made Peter pause and turn to look at him because there was something off about Stiles’s tone of voice. But the young man merely smiled encouragingly, raising his hand to give Peter a little wave.

***

The house was quiet when Peter walked in from the garage door. That wasn’t unusual in and of itself; Chris was usually in his workshop, time lost as he focused on his work. While Chris was CEO and majority shareholder of Argent Arms International, he allowed his trusted senior team – led by his brutally efficient ex-wife Victoria – to run the day-to-day business, keeping Chris in the loop on major decisions. He was, in his heart, an engineer and he enjoyed the designing and testing process of small arms manufacturing.

But yet, the house was… _too_ still. Peter walked through the kitchen and found that Chris had cleaned up, everything was neatly put away, and the counter was bright and shiny. He picked up the stack of mail on the kitchen island, flipping through various bills, statements, and junk mail.

“Christopher, darling, I’m home early today. Why don’t you join me in the bedroom?” He called down to Chris’s basement workshop, but didn’t hear any of Chris’s horrendous classic rock music drifting up to him.

Peter took a deep breath and made his way upstairs to their bedroom, a curl of anticipation in his belly. There was a very small possibility that Stiles had called Chris to let him know that Peter was headed home early…and sometimes, if Peter was lucky, Chris enjoyed surprising Peter almost as much as Peter enjoyed being surprised.

“Christopher?” He said, coyly, turning on the light.

The bed was neatly made and everything was folded and put aside. He unbuttoned his jacket and walked into their large walk-in closet, turning on the lights. He slipped the jacket off his shoulders, looking at the six empty hangers on Chris’s side of the closet.

Did he go on a business trip and Peter simply forgot? It was true that he was distracted with work lately, but surely Peter would’ve remembered.

However, he noticed that Chris hadn’t taken any of his tailored suits.

He pulled out his phone and checked his calendar, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. On a lark, he opened one of the overhead cabinets to see that one of their smaller suitcases was missing.

“What the hell…” he murmured to himself, kicking off his shoes and walking back into the bedroom. He cleared his phone’s screen and called Chris.

“This is Chris Argent. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”

“Hey, I’m home early, where are you? Give me a call when you get this.”

He ended the call and opened text messages.

_Peter: Baby, where are you?_

He walked around the bedroom, frowning. It didn’t seem like anything was missing. He opened one of Chris’s dresser drawers and found that a few of his tee-shirts and boxers were missing.

It finally dawned on Peter that Chris might have left him.

Peter sighed and leaned against the dresser, clearing the text message screen to call the one person who would know Chris’s whereabouts.

“Stilinski.”

“John, this is Peter.”

John sighed and then cleared his throat. “Hey, Peter, I was expecting your call.”

“Where is he?” He said, mildly.

“Look, I don’t want to get in the middle of this—“

“In the middle of _what_ exactly?”

John paused for a long moment. “All I can say is that Chris is okay, he’s _safe_.”

“Safe! Why does Christopher need to be _safe_?”

And from whom? From Peter? This was outrageous, but he reined in his temper because John Stilinski didn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit. He took a deep, calming breath.

“Okay, I’m glad he’s safe. Is he staying with you?”

John hedged. “No, he’s not staying with me. Where do you think he’d go?”

Peter tapped his fingers against the edge of the dresser. “Our Monterey house, of course.”

“Listen, Peter, whatever is going on with the two of you…you guys can weather through it. When Melissa and I got married, we went to counseling to help us talk things through.”

“Are you telling me that Chris wants out?”

“Hey, no, I’m not saying anything like that. Just, you know, giving you some friendly advice. We’ve all been there,” John said, kindly.

“All right. Thank you, John, I’ll speak to you later.”

Peter ended the call and stared at his empty, quiet bedroom. He felt Chris’s absence keenly; there was no way that he was going to let Chris walk out on him without an explanation. Decision made, he changed into a pair of jeans and a gray shirt. He slipped his feet into his soft loafers and headed back to the garage to his car.

When he hit the highway, he made a call to Stiles.

“Yo, boss, how’re you doing?”

“I’m going to the beach house and I may not be back in the office tomorrow.”

He heard Stiles give a long sigh. “Yeah, that’s—that’s cool, Peter, that’s a good idea, don’t worry about us.”

And Peter realized that Stiles probably already knew. “Did John tell you?”

“ _Yeahhhh_ , dad said that Chris called him. Didn’t tell him why, but…yeah, he knew you’d probably be worried and that you’d call dad if you couldn’t reach him, so Chris told dad where he was headed. Dad made me swear not to say anything until you called him. Sorry, Peter.”

Peter sighed, his hands gripping the steering wheel. There was no point in being angry with either of the Stilinski men. They were loyal and could keep a promise or a secret.

“It’s fine, Stiles.”

“Just get him back. Don’t worry about work, okay?”

“It’s okay, we’ll be fine,” he said, ending the call quickly and stepping on the accelerator.

He could make it to Monterey in just a few hours, in time for dinner. He and Chris would talk things through and he’d make sure to bring Chris home. Their marriage and their relationship had weathered far worse than…whatever this was; he wasn’t even sure what had set Chris off, but he was going to find out and fix it.

***

He found Chris in the water, surfing the early evening waves, low and calm. The sky was a deep orange-blue and Peter walked barefooted to the water’s edge, sitting down in the sand and gently placing his loafers next to him. He watched as Chris sat on his board, looking towards the shoreline. Peter held up his hand and waved, but dropped back to his elbows, letting the heat from the sand warm him.

He enjoyed watching Chris on the surf, catching the last wave as he stood on his long board, feet balanced as he guided the board through the chop, jumping down into the shallow end. He pulled the board under his arm, walking up to the beach.

Peter stood up and smiled. “It’s been years since we’ve been here. I didn’t know you wanted to come out to the beach house, why didn’t you tell me?”

Chris gave him a long glance and sighed. “It might be years for you, but I’ve been coming out here a lot the last few months.”

“Without me?”

“You’ve been busy.”

“And what else have you been doing without me?” He said, tilting his head to the side and deliberately keeping his tone light, not that it would fool Chris.

Actually, Peter was rather curious, though he was certain the question would piss off Chris. Their relationship was by no means open – Peter was too possessive and Chris was too faithful – but that didn’t mean that certain _allowances_ were asked for and granted. They were few and far in between and nothing that would actually impact their marriage and partnership; but if Chris was keeping secrets from Peter or if their trust in each other was shaken, Peter didn’t know how to come back from that.

Chris’s expression turned sour and he snorted, shaking his head. He walked back towards the back deck, setting his board against the house as he toweled off the ocean water and the sand.

“I asked you a question, Christopher.”

“Don’t be stupid, if I wanted to fuck someone, I’d tell you,” he said, walking into the house.

Peter followed him inside. “Are you going to at least tell me why you packed up and left?”

Chris walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge to pull out two beers. He popped the lid on both and walked back into the living room, handing one to Peter. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d even notice. Look, Peter, I totally support your need to take over the financial world. Hell, it’s what gives us such a good life, I know that. I’m not taking that for granted.”

Peter frowned. “Chris, you contribute equally to this marriage as—“

“It’s not about the money,” he said, taking a long drink of his beer. “I’m just tired of being an afterthought in my own marriage.”

“An afterthought.”

“All we do is fuck. You come home, you fuck me, and then you go back to work…and that’s pretty much all we do.”

“Are you unhappy with our life?”

“I’m not unhappy, but I’m not happy either. Are you?”

Peter stared at him; that was question he wouldn’t be able to answer in any kind of “right” way. If he answered yes, that he was happy, then he’d come across as a self-involved ass who hadn’t noticed his husband’s feelings; but if he answered no, that he wasn’t happy, too, then he’d be admitting to disconnecting emotionally from their marriage or making a move to try and work things out.

A no win situation for both of them. Peter didn’t like no win situations.

“I haven’t been happy for a long time, Petey,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m not putting the blame all on you; I’m part of the problem, too. I left because I was certain you wouldn’t notice for a couple of days. And maybe I would’ve had some time to think things through and come home. You wouldn’t even have known—“

“That’s utter bullshit. I certainly did notice. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I don’t want to fight,” he said, softly. “Go home, Peter, give me a few weeks to figure things out.”

“A few weeks! What is there to figure out? And why are you figuring things out on your own? Shouldn’t we—“

“Maybe you need some time to figure things out on your own, too.”

“What am I supposed to _figure out_?”

Chris met his gaze and then looked away.

“Right.” Peter set the beer bottle on a nearby table and stepped closer to Chris. “All right. I’m not going to give up on us, Christopher. I’m not going to give you up. I respect that you want some space, that’s fair. I haven’t been as attentive as I should be as your partner, I accept that. But don’t think that running away from me is going to solve anything.”

Chris swallowed and nodded.  

Peter leaned closer to him and gave him a soft kiss on the lips, relieved that he was still welcomed. “Come home soon, Chris, don’t make us wait too long.”

 

**FRIDAY**

“You’re a terrible workaholic,” Derek said, leaning against the doorway of his office. “We’re all kind of worried about you.”

Peter glanced up from the paperwork strewn across his desk. “Money waits for no man, Derek.”

Derek was quiet for a long moment. “Stiles used to say that a lot when he first started working for you. He doesn’t say that very much anymore.”

He took a deep breath, a frown forming on his lips. “Yes, I noticed that there’s a difference in Stiles’s priorities this past year. He seems to be spending quite a lot of his time with you.”

Derek snorted with mirth. “Are you calling me a bad influence on _Stiles_?”

Stiles had been jittery with nerves the last week, sneaking off during lunch to eat with Derek instead of with his usual compatriots and inviting Derek out for after work fun. Peter had once caught Stiles anxiously culling through Yelp reviews of various types of date activities, distractedly gnawing on his thumbnail, while in the middle of a proposal meeting. Peter subtlety approved, glad to see his protégé making the first move. Derek would have harbored a crush on Stiles for years before doing anything about it, perhaps even losing Stiles in the end; it seemed silly to Peter that Derek would wait and waste all that time, pining away alone, when he could have Stiles now.

“Maybe because he believes that our, um, being together, is a little more important than making money,” Derek murmured, quirking his lips slightly in a hesitant smile. “You should go home, Uncle Peter.”

“There’s nothing for me there.”

“You know which home I’m talking about.”

 

**SATURDAY**

Peter hated being restless. There was nothing to do at home. After ten years with Chris, Peter didn’t know what to do with the silence. So he spent the day in the office, going over the budget, reading some of the cold call proposals that were in Danielle’s recycle bin, and generally attacking everything that was on his low priority to-do list.

 

**SUNDAY**

It was rare for Peter to overindulge in alcohol; but he spent the whole of Sunday drunk and passed out on Chris’s couch in his workshop. During bouts of sobriety, he’d angrily jerk off and come all over the cushions; but then he would finish off another bottle of bourbon and inevitably spend the rest of the night hung over and vomiting into the toilet.

 

**MONDAY**

“This is fucking bullshit,” Peter shouted, throwing the documents on the table. “Don’t bring me these half-assed proposals and expect me to fix your pathetic attempts at strategic planning!”

Stiles, Boyd, and Erica stared back at him. Peter’s felt his lips curl in self-disgust and he turned away, unable to look at the pitying expressions on their faces.

“Take a half day, boss,” Erica said, narrowing her eyes at him. “In fact, go get a massage.”

“I’ll even pay for it,” Boyd added, his handsome face smoothing into his usual stoic expression.

Of course they knew what was behind Peter’s outbursts; in the years that they had worked for him, he’d rarely lost his composure in front of them.

Peter got out of his chair and walked to the wall of windows, staring out at the city below. He placed his hands on his hips and took a deep breath.

“I apologize for my unprofessional behavior,” he said, turning to look at his associates. “It won’t happen again.”

“Peter, really, we can handle your workload today,” Stiles said, standing up and walking towards him. “In fact, we can handle your workload for the rest of the week if you… _you know_ …want to take a few days off.”

Peter gave the younger man a long look and then sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Look, I appreciate everyone’s concern, but there’s no need to treat me with kid gloves. We still have a lot of work that we need to get through today.”

***

Derek knocked on Peter’s door, walking inside. “Uncle Peter.”

“What is it, Derek?”

He watched as Derek set down coffee from Starbucks and his favorite blueberry scone on his desk. “Your epic psychotic behavior has made it all the way down to Accounting.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Stiles ratted me out.”

“Don’t make mom come in here to give you a pep talk,” Derek warned, meaningfully. They shared a smile. “Why are you killing yourself here when you know where you should be?”

“I’m trying to be respectful of my husband’s request for space.”

“What…” Derek began, shyly. “Why did Chris leave?”

Peter leaned in his chair and gazed steadily at his nephew. There was a time when they were close like brothers; best friends and co-conspirators. There wasn’t anything that Derek could ask of him and Peter would bend over backwards to try and help him.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been inattentive and using Chris for sex.”

Derek stared at him thoughtfully and nodded, looking through the windows behind Peter. There were a few years, especially before Peter met Chris, where his sexual dalliances and affairs were numerous and extreme. It shouldn’t have surprised Peter to see Derek’s easy acceptance, but it left an uneasy feeling in his chest.

“Yeah, okay. I guess it’s kind of ironic that…well, no, I’m not going to compare my shitty past relationships to your marriage. You and Chris have always been a rock. Like mom and dad, you know?”

“Last week, I would’ve agreed with you with one hundred percent certainty,” he said, smiling. “Today, I’m not sure so.”

“So what’re you going to do?”

“My options are limited—“

“Peter, don’t treat your marriage like one of your investments—“

“ _Everything_ is an investment,” he said, flippantly.

Derek rolled his eyes and huffed angrily. “Okay, you want to know the truth, Chris is unpredictable. You want to talk about your marriage like a business opportunity? He’s the riskiest venture you’ve ever invested in and you’re kind of an idiot because you’ve invested everything you have in him. But your ROI is going to be incalculable, if you don’t fuck it up. Your marriage, it’s still young, it still needs to mature. And maybe _you’re_ the one who needs to mature. You need to give it about 80 more years before you can harvest. Anything sooner? You’ll be one of those guys who jumped out of the window when the stock market tanked during the Great Depression.”

Peter smiled. “Thank you for that enlightening analogy.”

“Don’t be a jerk, okay?” Derek slid his hands into his pockets and gave Peter a frank look. “Mom always said that family comes first; that money or success or anything wasn’t worth it without a family to share it all with.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Peter leaned back in his chair and stared at his nephew. “Thank you for the coffee and the scone.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, giving Peter a small smile. “Hey, you can always come to dinner with me and Laura tonight. Cora’s got a date with Isaac, and Stiles is hanging out with his friends so…you don’t have to be alone, you know.”

“I’m pretty certain that I’m going to be working very late tonight, but thank you for the invitation, that means a lot to me,” he said, softly.

 

**TUESDAY**

Peter was walking to his office when Danielle came out of her chair, holding a glossy wooden box in her hands. He recognized the familiar gold Calatrava Cross emblem embedded on the lid.

“Mr. Hale, this was just delivered, I believe you’ll really like what I purchased on your behalf,” she said, handing him the box. “I couldn’t find the exact James Joyce quote on love or marriage, but I found one that I think you’ll approve.”

Peter stared at it, feeling the weight of the item inside the box. “Thank you, Danielle, I’m certain it’s more than appropriate.”

She smiled widely and nodded, returning to her chair. Peter sighed, walking into his office, closing the door firmly behind him.

He opened the lid to see a perfectly suitable gold Patek Phillipe Grandmaster Chime with a durable brown leather alligator strap nestled safely inside the silk. It was a stunning watch; one that Peter actually coveted for himself. He would have to get flowers for Danielle; she had chosen something that Chris Argent would wear proudly. He pulled the watch from the holder, walking to his desk, and turned it over, the engraving on the inner face catching his attention.

_We are tomorrow what we establish today. Love, Peter_

He clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the watch. He threw it against the door, a part of him gleeful at hearing it shatter, landing roughly on the floor.

“Fuck.” His phone beeped and he snatched it up, angrily. “What!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I heard something—“

“Danielle, it’s fine, I would not like to be disturbed for the next hour.”

“Of course, Mr. Hale.”

Peter sat down in his chair, placing the phone down in its cradle. He stared at the empty box on his desk and took a deep breath, pressing his hands on his head and closing his eyes.

***

There was no point in getting drunk. He was finished with the excessive drinking; Peter was a maudlin drunk anyway, especially when he was drunk alone.

He sat outside on the back terrace, sipping a glass of red wine, staring morosely at the remnants of the broken watch inside its box. A part of him regretted destroying such a gorgeous piece of horological perfection, though he wouldn’t miss the $2.5 million price tag. He thought it was rather ballsy of his assistant to actually make that purchase; and if Peter weren’t such a fucking emotional wreck, he would’ve given the gift to Chris with breathless glee.

His phone buzzed on the glass table and his heart lurched at the sound. He stared at the screen and smiled, seeing the photo of his daughter.

“Hello, darling—“

“Allison just told me that Chris left! Tomorrow’s your ten year anniversary! What the hell, dad? What’s going on with you two?”

“Malia, it’s fine, I have it under control.”

She snorted. “Dad, you’re in denial; you never had it under control. Whatever ‘control’ you think you have, it’s because Chris never felt like he had to control _you_.”

He twirled the stem of the wine glass between his fingers. “Sweetheart—“

“What did you do to piss him off?”

“You know, I’m not completely certain,” he said, carefully. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss it, but he’s staying at the beach house and he’s asked for some space—“

“That is code for ‘ _leave me alone so I can figure out how to divorce you without you trying to stop me_ ,’ dad!”

“It hasn’t come to that, I promise. I won’t let it.”

He hoped that this was a promise that he could keep.

Malia was quiet on the other end. “I love him; I don’t want to lose him.”

“I know, sweetheart, and we’re not going to lose him.”

“I don’t care what you have to do, but fix this, dad,” she hissed at him.

“I will do _everything_ in my power to bring Christopher home,” he said, firmly.

 

**WEDNESDAY**

On Wednesday, Peter cracked.

It was their ten year anniversary and his husband left him.

Furious, Peter drove down to their Monterey house before it was even dawn. He parked the car in the driveway, unlocked the door and threw down his keys in the foyer. He kicked off his shoes and threw off his jacket in the hallway leading into the master bedroom.

He found Chris sleeping peacefully in bed, naked, the balcony doors open, letting in a warm breeze from the Pacific.

How the fuck was Chris sleeping, like this separation wasn’t eating away at his soul, too?

Peter shucked off the rest of his clothes, grabbing the bed sheet and pulling it off of Chris. He scrambled over Chris, holding his sleeping form down and kissed him awake.

“Wha—Peter? What the fuck, Peter?” Chris said, trying to escape from Peter’s kisses. “What are you—hey, cut it out!”

He pushed Peter back, a firm hand on Peter’s chest.

Peter growled, staring at him. “I’m tired of fucking waiting for you to come home.”

“So you thought, what, that this was going to solve everything?” Chris gritted out, glaring up at him. “Sex doesn’t solve everything between us!”

Peter smirked. “But it does solve a lot of things, though, doesn’t it? And it’s not just me, is it? You had every chance to say no at any time I touched you!”

“I thought you were going to give me space.”

“No, Christopher, I’m not going to give you space; that doesn’t bode well for either of us. I’ve been a fucking wreck without you—“

“So have I!” Chris roared, leaning his face closer towards Peter. “You’re not the only one in this marriage, you fucking brat!”

Peter took a deep breath. “I’m not going to just sit idly by and wait for you to leave me. I don’t want to lose you like that; because you didn’t give me a chance to fight for you. Don’t ask me to do that, Chris. So just tell me what you want. What do you want? What the hell do you want from me?”

Chris stared at him for a long moment, his mouth open. His hand slid up from his chest to curve around Peter’s neck. Peter closed his eyes, reveling in Chris’s touch. He could admit that he was addicted to Chris; that in all their years together, he was still thrilled to feel Chris’s hands on him.

“You want to know what I want from you?” Chris said, huskily.

Peter rolled his eyes in frustration. “Yes! Fuck, Christopher, are you deaf? I’ll do anything—“

Chris grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair and jerked his head back. “Shut up.” He licked up Peter’s neck and Peter shivered, his eyes fluttering shut. “You _know_ what I want.”

Peter found himself tossed on the bed and turned on his back, Chris climbing over him. He grabbed Peter’s wrists and held them on the bed beside Peter’s head. God, it had been _years_ since Chris was this aggressive. Peter was already hard, the head of his cock pressing against his lower belly, drooling pre-come between them.

“You always think you know what I want,” he murmured, grinning down at Peter. “Somewhere along the line, you stopped asking and I stopped talking. And you never asked me why.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Why?”

Chris smirked, tucking his knees between Peter’s thighs, pushing his legs open. “You’re so fucking turned on right now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He licked his lips. “It’s been years since you took control…”

“Yeah, that’s my fault,” Chris said, leaning down to lick across Peter’s nipple, then nipping it with his teeth. Peter hissed, arching his back for more. Chris chuckled darkly, licking the other one and giving it a nice hard bite.

“Fuck!”

“I forgot what a little slut you really are, Peter.” He kissed up Peter’s chest, dragging his teeth up Peter’s neck. “Say it.”

“I’m a little slut,” he said, his lips curling into a smile.

“You’ve always been a little slut for my cock, haven’t you?”

Peter laughed, liking where this was heading. “Was there any doubt?”

Chris paused, lifting his head to look down at Peter. “Yeah. Yeah, there was a little doubt.”

“Well, then put it out of your mind, Christopher,” he said, earnestly. “There is only you; only _us_.” He motioned his chin to the bedside table. “I’m sure there’s a new bottle of lube in there.”

Chris chuckled. “Yeah, there was, but I’ve been using it.”

“ _Tsk, tsk,_ getting off without me?”

 He let go of Peter’s wrists, reaching for the drawer, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. “It’s not the same.”

Peter smiled, smugly, as Chris sat back on his heels, flicking the top of the bottle open and pouring a generous helping of lube on his fingers. He closed the top and tossed the bottle on the bed. Peter pulled up his knees, tucking both of his hands under his head, watching as Chris braced his hand on Peter’s knee, his fingers slipping inside of Peter.

“Jesus…it’s been too long,” Peter murmured, arching into it, closing his eyes. “Fuck me, Christopher.”

Chris took hold of his cock and pressed the head against Peter’s hole, sliding inside on a long, smooth slide. They both groaned and Chris fell over him again, grabbing his wrists and holding him down. Peter wrapped both of his legs around Chris’s hips as Chris gave him a few slow, deep thrusts.

“Come on, Chris, you can do better than that,” Peter whispered against his ear. “There was a time when you’d fuck me wet and raw and leave me passed out on— _oh fuck!_ Yes, yes, baby, please!”

“Fucking slut,” Chris hissed, biting Peter’s shoulder, driving his cock in and out of Peter.

Peter felt his toes curl, digging his heels against the back of Chris’s thighs, urging him on. He followed Chris’s fast and hard pace, arching into every thrust, panting noisily as Chris took him apart. “Is this what you want, darling? Huh? Come on, fuck me. Fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck— _oh god, fuck…fuck me…_ ”

He couldn’t get enough.

Chris let go of his wrists and Peter grabbed his shoulders, pulling him closer. He felt Chris’s slick hand curl around his cock, stroking him with firm, quick strokes, right at the head. And Peter held his breath, feeling the buzz of pleasure shock him, from his brain to his balls to his toes. He let out what could only be called a wail, coming in a long, hard shudder under Chris.

Distantly, through the throbbing in his ears, he felt Chris come, twitching his hips, chest holding him down and pressing the air out of his lungs. He grunted thickly, pressing his mouth against Peter’s neck, mumbling curse words intermingled with ‘ _fucking love you’_ and ‘ _ohmygod_.’ Peter curled his arms behind Chris’s neck, holding him through his pleasure, until they both collapse from the effort.

Peter let out a moan, letting his arms and legs drop lifelessly alongside Chris’s body. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and eyes with his arm, chuckling softly to himself.

Chris raised his head, his gaze intense as he looked at Peter, catching his breath. “I’m not done, Peter.”

He shivered at the sound of dark promise in Chris’s voice. A smile formed on his lips as he met Chris’s blue eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

***

Peter blinked up at the ceiling, a stupid smile on his face. Chris snickered, collapsing beside him, his hand on Peter’s stomach.

At one point, they had stopped to watch the sunrise, brightening the bedroom with gorgeous morning light. It had awakened something in both of them and Peter couldn’t stop smiling and looking into Chris’s eyes, their connection intense and immediate.

_“Happy anniversary,” Chris whispered, pressing soft kisses against Peter’s face._

_“Happy anniversary, darling.”_

“That is an expression I haven’t seen on your face in a very long time,” he said, smugly. “Fucked stupid looks good on you, babe.”

Peter snorted, still a little lost in his mind. Any other time, he would’ve had a dozen retorts ready, but he couldn’t come up with a single thing to say. He felt calm and weightless, unburdened of everything beyond their bed. Chris laughed, throaty and loose and _happy_ , Peter noted, and that made him preen. He realized that it had been a long time since either of them had felt connected; together.

Happy.

“I’m sorry for…for making you feel that you were secondary in our life.”  

“Thank you,” Chris murmured against his shoulder. “I’m sorry for shutting you out and leaving.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “I do love you; always have.”

Chris kissed his arm. “I love you, too, Petey. That’s never been an issue with us.”

Peter inclined his head in agreement, still staring up at the ceiling. “I’m shifting my priorities.”

“Set some new boundaries. Both of us, not just you.”

He grinned, turning his head to meet Chris’s warm gaze. He looked sated and happy. “I’d like it if you’d initiated more; took what you wanted.”

Chris smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. “Liked that, did you?”

“My god, yes!”

Chris slid his hand down Peter’s stomach, curling around his softening cock. Peter groaned, hissing from the over sensitivity. He grabbed Chris’s wrist, pulling his hand off.

“I didn’t know how much I missed this until now.”

He heard Chris snort against his skin. “Slut.”

“We should stay here, through the weekend,” Peter suggested, turning on his side and tangling their legs together. “You could surf and I could work on my tan.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “We could go on a date.”

“ _Hmmm_ …that’s a lovely idea,” he said, agreeably. “Talia offered up any of the Hale properties to us. We could schedule in some time off from work, maybe spend a month in Greece.”

“If we go in the summer, the girls could come out to visit for a week,” Chris said, propping his head up with his hand.

“We should probably call them so they won’t be worried.”

Chris grinned. “A few more hours won’t kill them.”

Peter kissed him and laughed. “You know what I would love to do tonight?”

“Yes,” Chris said, nipping along his jawline.

Peter laughed again. “Well, _yes,_ that’s a given, but we should go down to the wharf and pick up some seafood. We could have a clam bake on the beach.”

“Well, I suppose we could shower and get dressed and go out to run a few errands. I couldn’t possibly keep you tied to the bed the whole day…”

“I’m really enjoying seeing this side of you, Mr. Argent.”

Chris stroked his hand over Peter’s head, thumb sliding down the side of his neck. “I’ve missed you.”

Peter nodded, giving him a small smile. “I’m here, Christopher.”

*****

** EPILOGUE **

**MONDAY**

No one commented on Peter’s late arrival to the office; though everyone seemed to notice that he was smiling more than usual and that he looked tanned and happy and well rested.

“It’s amazing how so many people are emotionally invested in my health and the state of my marriage,” he remarked, raising his eyebrow. “You’d think that I’ve been a complete ogre or something.”

“That’s code for ‘ _you look well fucked_ ,’ dude,” Stiles said, unnecessarily. “And yes, you’ve been a total asshole the last couple of weeks so of course we’re emotionally invested; we’ve had to put up with it.”

“Do not call me ‘ _dude_.’” Peter rolled his eyes. “And thank you for commenting on my love life.”

Stiles winked at him, leaving his office. “Pay back is a bitch! Welcome back, Alpha.”

Throughout the morning, half listening during proposal meetings, Peter was recklessly distracted, texting Chris on the random things that crossed his mind.

_Peter: Did I tell you that I love this purple tie that you gave me for my birthday last year. Did you know that purple is the color of creativity? And royalty!_

_Chris: It took me the whole morning to clean my workshop. Now I’m too tired to actually do any work. I think I’m going to take a mid-morning nap._

_Peter: Are you taking a nap on the couch or in bed?_

_Chris: Bed. You ruined the upholstery on my couch in my workroom and owe me a new one._

_Peter: A worthy sacrifice. I’ll have a new one delivered tomorrow._

_Chris: I’m naked. Don’t you wish you were here?_

_Peter: You are a terrible tease! Tell me what you’re doing in our bed. Naked. Without me._

_Chris: I’m going to jerk off really slow and make it last._

At one point, Chris sent him a naughty picture – his hand curled around the head of his cock, come dribbling over his fingers and on the head – and Peter flushed hotly, glad he was sitting at the conference table so no one could see that he was hard under his dress slacks.

Boyd gave him a puzzled look while Stiles smirked knowingly at him, raising his eyebrow coyly.

_Peter: Have lunch with me today._

_Chris: Do you miss me?_

_Peter: Yes._

_Chris: Maybe after my nap._

In an attempt to make up for all the distractions, Peter settled in at his desk and read through the nine proposals, double checking the figures to prevent another Dawson incident. He frowned when someone knocked on his doors.

“Danielle, I asked not to be disturbed,” he called, leaning back in his chair.

The door opened and Peter was about to yell for them to get out, but the breath caught in his throat when he saw Chris in the doorway, wearing a shit eating grin and holding up two large plastic bags from Nori, Peter’s favorite sushi restaurant.

“Oh, this is a treat,” he murmured, getting out of his chair and going to his husband. He wrapped his arms around Chris’s neck and gave him a soft kiss. “I wasn’t actually sure if you were going to make it.”

“Nap time was boring without you,” Chris said, walking to the leather sectional and sitting down. He opened the bags and pulled out two bottles of water and a dozen sushi plates, setting them on the coffee table. “I got all of our favorites.”

Peter grinned, grabbing a pair of wooden chopsticks and breaking them apart. “I think you got enough to feed a small army.” He sighed, smiling. “Thank you, Christopher.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Chris said, fingers holding Peter’s chin as he leaned in for a sweet, slow kiss. “So, tell me what you’ve been doing all morning? You know mine wasn’t that productive, but I did have a really interesting talk with Joel Harrison about consulting on a few DARPA projects. Apparently, someone in the DoD saw my patent for guided magnetic anti-tank bullets and they want me to help develop it.”

He raised his eyebrow. “That sounds exciting; DARPA only works with the best.”

Chris leered at him. “I know.”

Peter chuckled, snagging a salmon roll. They finished their meal, talking through Chris’s potential DARPA contracts and Peter’s latest batch of proposals and which ones he might be in favor of. Chris cleared off the table, tucking everything neatly into the plastic bags and setting them aside against the table.

He was surprised when Chris grabbed him by the wrists, pushing him gently down on the sectional cushions, a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. Peter was perfectly happy – his belly was full, he was warm against Chris’s length, and if he was lucky or begged adequately, Chris would give him a blowjob.

“I was hoping we could drive down to the Monterey house this weekend,” Chris offered, smiling at him.

“It sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Chris raised his eyebrow. “Oh? Not planning to work through the weekend?”

“It can wait until Monday – or one of my associates can handle it. It’ll be good for them; and I’ll get to see if my little trio can handle making the big decisions.”

“And facing the consequences of making them,” Chris murmured, leaning down to nuzzle his neck and ear.

Peter moaned softly, closing his eyes, enjoying the lushness of Chris’s mouth against his skin.

“Boss! You in?” Stiles called, knocking as he opened the door, looking around. “Danielle said that you were busy, but I know you’d want to know—“

“What now, Stiles?” Peter called from his position on the sectional. “You are seriously cutting into my lunch time.”

“Peter, one of the portfolio companies called your office but Danielle wouldn’t put them through, so she forwarded the call to me; it’s looking pretty rough for the company. Their CEO was just busted on a SEC fraud charge. It’s going to fucking tank the fund if we don’t move on it now.”

He considered it, cocking his head on the cushion. “Which one of the companies?”

“SimTech.”

Peter rolled his eyes and gazed up at Chris. “It’s one of our low risk investments. We’ll lose maybe $2 million if we get out now.”

Chris snorted. “Two million? We could cover that from our personal funds if we needed to.”

“That’s so generous of you, darling, if only that wasn’t illegal,” he said, chuckling.

“Peter, you have to talk to them—“

“Actually, Stiles, I think you, Boyd, and Erica should handle this one,” Chris said, looking up at him.

Peter nodded, agreeably. That was certainly a good idea; minimal loss, no matter what the three of them decided to do. “Stiles, you take the lead on SimTech. You put a plan together, figure it out, and keep our loss at two million. If you can mitigate our losses to less than two mill, I’ll give you the difference as your bonus.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yes, now shoo, we’re in the middle of something here,” Peter said, looking up at Stiles.

Stiles stared at him in disbelief and awe, and Peter could see the wheels turning in Stiles’s head; there was a sense of glee in Stiles’s eyes. He wasn’t scared about taking on the SimTech deal and Peter was curious to know what Stiles would do.

“Lock the door behind you,” Chris called out as Stiles headed out of the office. “Tell Danielle not to disturb us for the next hour.”

“Make that two hours!” Peter laughed, settling in against the cushions now, toeing off his dress shoes and letting them fall on the carpet below. “Now, what are you going to do to me, Mr. Argent?”

Chris gave him a wicked, devilish smile, the edges of his blue eyes crinkling. He laughed, low and deep in his throat, looking down at Peter.

“Anything I want.”

 

The end.


End file.
